


The Game ~ The Opening: The Virgin

by The_Thieving_Magpie



Series: The Game [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Sherlock-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:06:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9203156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Thieving_Magpie/pseuds/The_Thieving_Magpie
Summary: The Game is a stylish and mature soap opera based on BBC Sherlock in an alternate version of Earth.As you go along, please remember this is alternate reality, characters and world alike.Sherlock re-imagined.It centers on the City of London, now completely under Jim Moriarty’s control, and a City-State all on its own.A new and dangerous Nation.Sherlock Holmes is his prisoner and lover, and they reside in a very highly fortified penthouse that is more fortress than flat. Sebastian Moran is the angry and jilted would be suitor of Moriarty, and John Watson struggles to rally a Resistance movement to free the City, and his closest friend. Mycroft and Lestrade are held in a secret location, kept alive solely to keep Sherlock under control.There are very strong subjects contained herein, torture, murder, non con, drug use, brutality, suicide, mental issues of all varieties, etc.General Trigger warnings for all these always apply!Extreme Material ~ You Have Been Warned





	

The Opening: The Virgin.

 

Sherlock awakened to the sound of things breaking, and he knew that although he desperately wanted to burrow down under the covers, there was no point, and Jim would only harm himself if allowed to rampage. And so he slipped out from the sheets, naked, bruised and scarred, wandering tiredly to the dark haired man crouched in the corner with wild eyes and fingers clawed like talons into the carpet.

“Jim.”

He sounded tired, because he was tired. A deep, to the bones and then to the soul exhaustion. Fifteen years of this shit. He and Jim both had grey beginning at the temples now, but it was always dyed. Never allowed to show. Any more than the vicious proof of Moriarty’s psychotic rages, the burn marks from his cigarettes, the barbed wire that he liked to play with in bed, as his delusions and mental illness steadily worsened. The drugs weren’t helping. They were not drugs that might cure or aid, these were …

Just drugs.

The best cocaine on the planet, the finest crystal meth when he wanted it.

Heroin occasionally. He would force Sherlock to fix him up, watching his face with glee as he injected him with the pure smack. Sherlock was horrified, but he was so horrified so often now, the numbness had begun long ago. Now he did well to feel at all, but as he crouched down, there was a sharp stab of pity for the man he loved, the man he hated, the man who had already very nearly killed them both a dozen ways.

“I was a high functioning sociopath. Now I’m a barely breathing broken lunatic. You taught me to feel, Jim. Then you made me sorry I ever did.”

Words spoken long, long ago.

He wouldn’t dare speak to him that way now. It would only be harmful, and they’d both end up dead. Not that Sherlock wasn’t so sure that might not be the best way to go. He contemplated killing Jim frequently, a mercy to him, and to everyone else. But he knew he never would.

Jim Moriarty looked back up at him, dark eyes vacant, but the fire returning, as the psychosis began to relent. Intelligence once again filling out the spaces the madness left blank. There were fewer every day.

“Again?”

“Yes. Come back to bed.”

“I can’t … I .. have work to do.”

Sherlock picked him up, and simply carried him to bed. This time, Jim did not resist. Outside, the world seethed and boiled, London in all its glory. Sherlock had lost the ability to smile, or so he believed. He wondered where John was, where Mycroft was being held, if Molly and Mrs Hudson had survived .. it wasn’t likely, for them, really. Molly’s screams would always ring in his ears, and the thick, oddly heavy sound of the rifle butts sinking into Mrs Hudson’s soft body made him shudder at the time.

Not so much now. He was so used to .. so much.

Jim lay on his back, staring at the ceiling with his magical, deadly, all seeing eyes.

“You should have killed me all those years ago. I think you know that now.”

“Yes.”

“But you couldn’t.”

“No, of course I couldn’t.”

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say why not.”

“Jim …”

“Say it.” The tone was different now, and Sherlock rubbed his hand down his face.

“Because I love you too much.”

Jim smiled, and turned his back to Sherlock, nestled against him as if they were at perfect peace.

 

“By the way ………we’re declaring war tomorrow. Good night, honey.”


End file.
